


Love Letters from the Eleventh Hour (and Revelations from the Brink)

by paleogymnast



Series: Eleventh Hour [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Epistolary, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paleogymnast/pseuds/paleogymnast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly ten years have passed since Steve was framed for murder. Life has gone on, but not how anyone had hoped. Steve’s on death row, Kono’s in prison, Chin’s still with the HPD, and Danny? Danny’s a lonely investigator who writes love letters to Steve that Steve never reads. When the current Hawai‘i Governor decides to take one last look at the evidence at the same time a mysterious force threatens Danny’s life, two unexpected investigations collide. Will Danny finally clear Steve’s name, save his life, and confess his feelings? Or will Wo Fat’s victory be complete?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Letters from the Eleventh Hour (and Revelations from the Brink)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Steve / Danno Minibang on [stevedannoslash](http://stevedannoslash.livejournal.com). Many thanks to the mods for putting this challenge together. Thanks also to my wonderful beta, [engel82](http://engel82.livejournal.com) for her suggestions, advice, and encouragement. Without her cheerleading I never would have finished this story. I've tinkered with this lots since I got it back from her, so any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> This story has spoilers up through episode 1.24 and contains a tiny spoiler for Season 2 in that a Season 2 character appears in th story. However, this story is a completely AU take on the aftermath of episode 1.24, so I doubt the theoretially spoilery character's appearance in this fic will have any resemblance to that character's role on the program.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read; I hope you enjoy!

_Steve,_

 _I don't know if you ever see these letters or if you even know they exist. I guess I'll never know, and maybe it's better that way. At least I can keep up the illusion. Sometimes writing to you is the only thing that gets me through the day. It's a little piece of everything we lost that I got to keep. I'm still holding on, and I'll keep holding on. I hope you will too._

 _It was Gracie's birthday yesterday. Maybe I should call her Grace. She's 18 now. Can you believe it? It's been... Almost 9 years since I last saw her. Rachel hasn't tried to get a restraining order against me in years, but the judge never gave me even supervised visitation. Now that Gracie's all grown up, I could go see her, but should I? I mean I failed her. I abandoned her. I made bad choices, and I was cocky and overconfident, and I totally let down the two people who mattered more to me than anything in the world—Grace and you. That's my fault. Why would she even want to see me? Or am I a bigger coward for not even trying? I mean this is a chance to get something back, be there for her. I feel like it should be her choice, and I just don't know if I have the right to put myself out there._

 _When—when I'm honest with myself, which I always try to be, but don't often succeed, especially when it comes to you and Grace, I'm pretty sure I'm scared. Afraid, no terrified, scared shitless that Grace is going to reject me. All these years, it's been like she was in a bubble. I have my memories and they're perfect, and she's still my little princess, and I know that maybe, someday, I'll get to see her again. Now I've got the chance, only if I take it, and she rejects me, that dream of reuniting is gone. The prospect of a future without any hope of seeing her is almost more terrifying than going another day, another year without her. But I guess even if she says "no," there's still hope, right? She's got time, I've got time... She could always change her mind._

 _Time... I guess that's something we've got in short supply. They set a date. I'm sure you know. Six weeks from now, they're going to execute you for something you and I both know you didn't do. Kono told me you've stopped participating in your own defense. She told me it's like you're just waiting to die. I don't know how she knows these things... She's still in prison, but she might get parolled next year. We talk sometimes, and always on Gracie's birthday. I've been hoping she heard wrong, because you can't give up._

 _Jesus, Steve, how did we get here? I am so sorry, but that doesn't cut it. Sorry doesn't give you back the decade you've lost. Sorry doesn't give you back your career, or your family. Sorry won't save your life. It won't stop them from killing you. I promised you I would get you out, clear your name, and I still believe I can keep that promise. I swear to you I will do anything to save you. I would sell my soul in a heartbeat if there was any way it could help. I just keep coming back to how I fucked up nine-and-a-half years ago. I didn't tell you what was going on with Rachel, and I didn't think about the choices I was making. I wasn't honest with myself, and I didn't tell Rachel what was going on with you. I keep thinking if I'd just been there, maybe I could have stopped you from getting framed or caught, or something. Maybe if I was there, you never would have gone to the Governor's mansion. Would that have been enough? Some days I'm convinced it would have been. I should have had your back, and I didn't. I don't want you to pay for my mistake with your life. And I promise, I swear, I will spend the rest of my life getting justice for you Steve. If that's what it takes, I'll do it. I owe you that. Just try to hold on a little longer, no matter what the calendar says, don't give up hope. I hope it's not too much to ask you to have a little more faith in me._

 _Kono sends her love. Until next time, just remember I'll never stop fighting for you._

 _Your friend,_

 _Danny (Danno)_

~~~

 **The Investigation Begins:**

Tracy Li looked down at the file the governor had placed in front of her, glaring in disbelief. She hadn't known what to expect when she'd received the mysterious summons to the Governor's office. The _Governor's_ office for Christsakes. She was a fairly low level attorney in the appellate defender's office, and certainly didn't know why the Governor would want to meet with her, especially not for a hush-hush meeting.

"You've got to be kidding me." She couldn't stop the remark, but regretted it the moment the words left her mouth. Looking up hastily, her eyes full of apology, she said, "I meant no disrespect sir, but Governor... Six weeks. Six _weeks_ , and why after ten years... Why now?"

Governor Denning leaned back in his seat, clasped his hands behind his head, and stared at her, his expression inscrutable. After a moment of silence his face shifted, and Tracy swore an ironic smile flitted across his features before they settled. "I know; I'm not exactly thrilled about the timing myself, but considering we have six weeks until an _execution_ , it’s now or never. And as much as I would have loved to have gone the rest of my career without hearing the name McGarrett again, certain... actors have made enough noise that I can't ignore this anymore. The people of Hawai'i cannot afford to." He seemed to deflate with the admission and sagged forward towards his clasped hands braced on the desk in front of him. "As divisive, painful, even agonizing reopening this case would be, doing nothing and having doubts cast on the case after he's dead would be far worse. This was the worst case of domestic terrorism in the United States in over fifteen years and the absolute worst in the history of the State of Hawai'i. It unleashed a tidal wave of legislation here and across the country, spawned a renewed debate about capital punishment that is still going strong today, called into question the convictions and roles of dozens of the most dangerous criminals on our islands, and shook the public trust in government—especially law enforcement—to its foundations. McGarrett's trial and conviction were supposed to... restore faith. At the time, it took some, shall we say... creative, innovative lawyering to find a solution that seemed fair and just and yet satisfied the public outcry, and McGarrett’s conviction has been cited as a model for a new era." Denning paused and locked eyes with Tracy. "Imagine what would happen if it turned out that was all a mistake, only it's too late to do anything about it."

Tracy imagined, unable to suppress the shudder that ran through her from head to toe. It wasn't something anyone wanted to visit... Pandemonium, protests, fear, riots... The possibility of the _real_ perpetrators at large. It would mean the complete erosion—the erasure—of public trust in the criminal justice system at least—loss of faith in government, anarchy at the worst. But... But McGarrett was unquestionably guilty. All the evidence pointed to him. There was no hint of any other players... He'd been found in Governor Jameson's office next to her dead body clutching the murder weapon. Dozens of eye witnesses had seen either his initial escape or his incursion into the Governor's office, the office in which Tracy now sat. "You're not actually saying you think he's innocent?" she blurted in shock.

Governor Denning tsked and shook his head. He looked almost—disappointed. "Don't play ignorant with me. I've read your file; I know you're not stupid, far from it. You know as well as I do there's a long way from innocent to guilty of all the crimes for which you've been convicted; there’s a lot of room in between, and I’m saying it is starting to look like McGarrett falls somewhere in the middle. Where exactly he falls in that great big no-man’s land, I don’t know."

Tracy bit her lip and nodded. "That's true." She nodded fiddling with her thumbs as she searched for the right words. "However," she looked up and returned the Governor's glare, "considering McGarrett's been convicted of federal capital crimes _twice_ over and has an additional three life sentences and roughly 300 years more for the grand smorgasbord of state and federal felonies for which he was convicted, there's gotta be something... big—" she shot the governor fake grin worthy of the Cheshire cat, "or you wouldn't be doing this. So level with me. What is it? Why now? For that matter, why me?"

Denning tapped the file that sat between them like a bomb that might go off. Fitting, given the apparent destructive potential it contained.

"There have been complaints of irregularities for years," he began. "Given the nature of the situation, it was hardly unexpected. No one knew what normal _was_ , so things were bound to get a bit scrambled especially in the rush to prosecute..."

"And irregularities don't necessarily add up to reversible error," Tracy agreed, referring to the type of error that meant a conviction would be overturned, undone.

Governor Denning nodded in agreement. "About two months ago, my office started receiving anonymous tips. They came directly here, bypassed HPD, FBI, any hint of law enforcement. A few weeks later, the same information comes in through McGarrett's attorney—"

Tracy held up her hand, signaling the Governor to stop. "Sorry, wait a minute. I thought he didn't talk to his attorney." Rumor had it McGarrett had stopped talking to his attorney several years before and from all accounts spent his time just waiting to die. He refused to participate in his own defense, even though he’d maintained his innocence for years. It was mindboggling to the other appellate defense attorneys in Tracy’s office.

"He doesn't, but clearly someone does. The..." Denning grimaced. "The problem is, the most substantive doubts these tips have raised concern with the Hills murder."

Tracy blinked, the Hills murder had been the basis for the federal case against McGarrett. Laura Hills, as Governor Jameson's Public Safety Liaison, and had worked closely with both federal and state law enforcement officials and had been liaising on a variety of federal cases—human trafficking, racketeering, weapons smuggling, and international terrorism. The theory had been McGarrett murdered Hills in part because of her cooperation with various federal agencies who were investigating foreign terrorism, arms deals, and other unsavory organized crimes. McGarrett didn't want the matters investigated by anyone other than his own team because doing so would have uncovered his involvement. Hills got too close, threatened to expose him, and he executed her. The ties to the federal investigation and its apparent motivational role in her murder had allowed McGarrett to be prosecuted as if Hills were a federal official, which meant federal jurisdiction and the death penalty. The federal prosecutor’s “theory of the case” also laid the groundwork for the federal treason case against McGarrett. There were plenty of witnesses who testified to McGarrett's actions in open court—peace officers whom he’d assaulted, bystanders who saw him fleeing the old Five-0 headquarters, and the HPD who found him holding the murder weapon next to Governor Jameson’s body in the otherwise-empty Governor’s mansion—but again the Hills murder and it's motivation played a sizeable in the prosecution's ability to prove Treason against the US, and not just the state of Hawai'i and created grounds for capital punishment. Without the Hills conviction... The treason conviction wouldn't necessarily be undone, but it would probably be enough of a blow to get a new trial...

Governor Denning was _smirking_ at her. “Yeah, that was more or less my reaction, and it gets worse. There’s a lot of evidence already in the case record that suggests McGarrett believed Governor Jameson was framing him for the Hills murder and that was his motivation for eluding custody and storming the Governor’s Mansion.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together behind his head. “You see the problem?” he challenged.

“If that’s true, it looks like McGarrett’s motive for assassinating Governor Jameson was purely personal. There’s no hint of federal treason and the second capital charge implodes. Worse, it looks like he may have snapped—it casts doubts on his state of mind, sanity at the time of the murder, maybe even his capacity to stand trial in the first place,” Tracy answered.

“And we’re facing the execution of a man who is not guilty of any executable offense. Best case scenario gets retried and gets life in a Hawai’i state prison.” The Governor pushed the folder closer to Tracy so it was resting against her fingertips. “As for why you?” he cocked his head to the side, “You’re still new at this; you’ve got fresh eyes, but your performance reviews and law school transcripts say you’re intelligent and know what you’re doing. You were still a teenager when the whole mess went down, so your opinion isn’t tainted or jaded by your experience as either a lawyer or government employee at that time, and your Post-Conviction Remedies professor tells me you don’t take shit, even from hardened criminals.”

Tracy met Governor Denning’s gaze, and slowly moved her hands to pick up the folder. “Okay,” she said. Then, “Where do I start?”

“After you’ve been through that and the case files, try interviewing the medical examiner. It appears he had some… protests early on that were never addressed. Just one of the many _irregularities_ in this case.”

~~~

 **Danny:**

It wasn’t like Danny didn’t realize it was unhealthy. Pining after the condemned ex-partner with whom you’d fallen madly in love, but never acted on your feelings and only realized how strong they were _after_ your partner had been arrested for assassinating the governor and one of her aides _and_ you’d quite possibly gotten your ex-wife pregnant, _and_ permanently destroyed any chance you had of a continued relationship with your daughter—that was pretty much the definition of unhealthy .

Almost a decade on, and it wasn’t any better, if anything it was much worse. But Danny couldn’t escape these thoughts, these emotions. Everything had been stuck, stopped, frozen—his life had been taking one path, branches springing up in every direction, options and choices whizzing by while the future bore down on him like a freight train. As fast as the pace had been, as uncertain as the future was, as dramatic as the changes he faced promised to be, his life was heading in one direction—and then everything stopped. Steve’s arrest, Rachel and Grace’s departure, Chin’s betrayal, Kono’s arrest—it had been like hitting a brick wall. His life had been going somewhere. There was a natural course of action, a chain of events that _promised_ something… But where it led or what he would have found there, who he would have been—he would never know. Trial by fire, promises made and failed to keep, he was now left wondering… always wondering how it would have been.

Steve was on death row, Kono was in prison, and Grace had just turned 18. Chin, last he’d heard, was the Deputy Chief with the HPD—part of Danny seethed at that, that Chin had come out so unscathed after Steve believed in him, Steve gave him a second chance, Steve saved Chin’s life, and Steve helped clear his name. Kono was in prison for saving Chin too, and how did he repay them? By arresting Steve and testifying against him at trial. Somewhere in Danny’s mind he knew it wasn’t that simple. Part of him understood Chin had been trying to work things out from the inside—but the media circus that had erupted after Steve’s arrest and the subsequent kangaroo court that had tried and convicted him, found him guilty of _treason_ against the federal government for his “acts of domestic terrorism and support of organized crime,” had ensured that plan had gone belly-up and sideways. But Chin had stayed and Danny didn’t know why. And part of him was unable to forgive Chin for that.

A brisk knock on his office door snapped Danny out of his reverie and dragged him back to the present.

He looked up and turned, smiling with relief when he saw it was Janice at the door. “Hey, sorry, I was just thinking.”

Janice smiled, but her grin was pained… too sympathetic. He’d seen her use it countless times with clients and their families when a case was going _really_ badly. He didn’t want to consider too closely what it meant that she was directing it at him. “Danny, I know—I know you’re just going to say you need to work to keep busy, but… don’t you think you owe it to yourself, to Steve, to just take a little time.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Janice cut him off, her hands held up placatingly.

“I’m not saying right now, but maybe closer…” she let the sentence hang out there.

Closer to Steve’s execution date, she meant. The date was set, and Danny still wasn’t able to face it. It was taunting him, reminding him that he’d failed… but until that date passed and Steve was gone, there was still time. He could still keep that promise he’d made to Steve nine-and-a-half years ago as Steve was stuffed into the back of an HPD squad car. He could still clear Steve’s name, still get him out, there was still time. If he started making plans to take “mental health” time or “bereavement leave” around the execution date, he’d lose it. Redeeming himself by saving Steve was all that was keeping him together. “I can’t—” he started.

“Danny, you could use the time to work on Steve’s case. I’m not telling you to go home and mope. I’m not saying get ready for him to die, I’m just being realistic. You need to give yourself permission to _just_ focus on you and Steve for a little while,” Janice insisted, leaning against his door.

When the trial was over and everything was said and done, there was no way Danny could go back to being a Police Officer. He hadn’t been convicted of any crime, nor even accused, but his unwavering support of Steve and profession of Steve’s innocence had made him a distrusted laughing stock. Cops didn’t trust his judgment and guilt by association burned through any respect he might have had with his colleagues. He could have been hired back by Newark PD (not HPD… they would never trust him again and it was just flat-out too dangerous given the animosity towards everyone associated with Five-0 other than their very own turncoat, Chin), but taking the job would have been suicide. No cop would ever have trusted him. No one would have his back. He’d find himself in a situation where he needed backup and no one would come.

He’d been angry, miserable, alone, and lost. Rachel had taken Grace away. She was furious that he’d chosen Steve over her—even if he didn’t understand at the time the depth of his feelings for Steve, _Rachel_ sure did. And he was pretty sure she genuinely didn’t trust him because of his continued support of Steve. No Grace, no Steve, no job. Kono was in prison for her part in the asset forfeiture locker theft, Chin was busy sucking up to HPD, and Jenna had faded back into obscurity—her attempts to help Steve at trial had nearly ended with her lynched on the street for being an “unstable rogue.”

So he’d drifted back to New Jersey and his parents had taken him in. He’d spent a few years working on appeals for Steve, sending his ideas to Steve’s lawyer, when finally someone had taken pity on him and dragged his ass up to Manhattan to the Innocence project. At first he’d volunteered helping other people in situations like Steve’s—working tirelessly to clear their names. The volunteer work had parlayed into a full-time position. Danny’s police experience and years spent working on Steve’s appeals had given him great paralegal skills and his background as a detective made him particularly suited to interview witnesses and hunt for clues. That was a little over five years ago now, and he was finally willing to admit that _this_ , his new career, was a source of joy in his life. He loved helping people even if they weren’t Steve.

“Danny?” Janice asked again.

“I’ll think about it,” he agreed. “Now what client is this meeting about?” he asked, changing the subject. It wasn’t perfect. He still had to save Steve, but at least for now, he was doing some good.

~~~

 **Steve:**

Steve reached up and scratched off one more mark on the sterile cinderblock wall of his cell. For nearly nine years, the tiny cell at USP Terre Haute had been his entire world. Soon that would be no more. Six weeks. Six weeks left, and it was all over. He hated waiting to die, part of him still wanted to get up, act out, fight, try to do _something_... anything... But the flares of fire inside sputtered quickly and subsided. These days, when the sparks came they were fewer and farther apart, soon they would sputter for the last time and die. They would end, as would his life. Every time he felt that yearning burning need to _act_ , Steve remembered he'd been waiting to die for the better part of ten years, that he'd figured out long ago fighting only brought more devastation and pain. Fighting sucked more people into his personal hell, destroyed more lives as they fell into the web of control, deceit, and corruption Wo Fat had spun, its tendrils reaching everywhere and sticking to everything and everyone they touched. Sometimes they didn’t know they were stuck. Wo Fat would lie in wait until his prey grew complacent, and then he would pull the string. The tendril would whisk the prey into his waiting maw and it was all over. Another life destroyed. Another death on Steve’s head. All because he’d been cocky, arrogant, even greedy.

He’d felt invincible, and he’d been convinced he could solve the mystery of his parents’ murders, certain he could expose the complex plot and machinations of an evil man and his conspirators who together toyed with the lives of everyday people, tossing aside human lives like garbage. Steve had been so sure, he’d ignored the signs, failed to heed his own father’s warning. He’d had the Governor’s support, immunity and means—these were tools, armor, weapons his father hadn’t had. He should have listened. He should have thought more carefully.

They always say pride comes before a fall. Some days—those days when Steve still thought—he wondered if anyone’s pride had swelled as large as his or fallen as low. Most days, these days… he didn’t think. Just waited. Existed. Letting the seconds slip away, leading him down the inexorable path to the executioner.

Time, so much time on his hands—five years now without contact. He’d stopped replying to the letters from his ohana (on the rare occasion they were allowed to communicate with him) when he’d made the decision to accept his death. Over the intervening years the years his communication with his attorney had trailed off too. What was the point when Steve had no illusion he was ever going to win an appeal or habeas petition or anything else that could change the course of his artificially short life? His attorney was frustrated—angry even—with him, but still kept Steve’s case, still kept trying to get him to cooperate, help him find the _hope_ to soldier on. Steve knew there was an organization helping the guy, something about helping people like Steve exonerate themselves… _Exoneration_ , Steve snorted at the idea. His conviction was _convenient_. It had satisfied the public need for blood and justice and revenge and accountability. His silence had—so far—bought him the safety of those he loved.

He missed them—especially Danny—even in his numbest moments, but then he’d remember the crack of the gunshot when Victor Hesse had murdered his father on Wo Fat’s and Governor Jameson’s orders. He’d shudder from head to toe and recommit himself. If his silence could prevent the same fate from befalling Danny or Chin or Kono or Grace—he’d accept it. It was a worthy trade and all he had the power to give.

He got up and went through his morning routine. Pushups, crunches, squats… the cramped quarters of his cell and horribly unhealthy (and sparse) prison diet had changed his body over the years, but he still exercised religiously—it was a compulsion borne part out of boredom, part out of fifteen years of Navy conditioning (if he counted his time at Annapolis), and part out of the meditative peace it helped him achieve. For a little while each day, Steve’s focus was narrowed down to the burn in his muscles as they craved oxygen, his only thought the concentration spared to maintain proper form.

Steve finished his last rep of crunches and stood, stretching. His body burned and tingled all over, a reminder he was still alive, at least for a little longer. As he splashed his face with water from his tiny sink basin, the worries that had plagued him over the last few days returned. His lawyer had been trying to schedule a meeting again. He’d even taken to sending increasingly desperate messages through with the COs whose job it was to deliver the summonses. The last message had mentioned something about “Danny” and “threat” and Steve the thick envelope that had arrived with the message was sitting unopened tucked at the end of Steve’s bunk. He was starting to think he _had_ to read it, and maybe he’d have to take a meeting with his attorney too.

He sat down on the thin mattress and stretched out, the envelope clutched reverently in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the flap and reached inside. He could do this. He had to. He needed to make sure Danny was okay… at this point, nothing else mattered.

~~~

 **Dr. Bergman:**

“Yes, I did lodge a formal protest.” Dr. Bergman looked up from his Piano and turned to face Tracy, regarding her with an inquisitive head-tilt.

“But you dropped it?” she asked consulting her notes. The “why” behind that question had been nagging at her since she’d started reading the file Gov. Denning had prepared.

Bergman was already walking away from her and the piano, deeper into the recesses of his office. He began talking, so she followed. “It became clear the prosecutor was not interested in the irregularities I had noted and no amount of persuasion would sway his mind. I considered resigning in protest, but concluded the community would be better served if I remained in my position as it would enable me to offer assistance should the case later be reexamined.”

They were in Bergman’s office now, and he had retrieved two files and placed them on the desk in front of him. He was taking his seat but hadn’t offered Tracy a chair. “Is it okay if I sit?” she asked.

“Oh yes.”

“So what are these irregularities?” She braced herself not quite sure what to expect from the ME.

Dr. Bergman opened the folder on his left, revealing an autopsy report complete with photos of Governor Jameson’s body. “When I conducted the autopsy of Governor Jameson, I noted the angle of entry of both bullets was… inconsistent with shots fired by someone of Commander McGarrett’s height. The angle suggested a trajectory indicative of someone considerably shorter.” Dr. Bergman opened the second folder. “I was… intrigued, so I obtained copies of the initial forensic report on McGarrett’s clothes and his intake examination at the county jail.”

Tracy looked down at the highlighted sections of text Dr. Bergman was pointing at.

“There was no powder residue on McGarrett’s clothes, and only minimal residue on his gloves. The results were consistent with someone who had picked up a firearm that had recently been discharged, but had not discharged it himself.” He pointed at another document. “McGarrett’s examination found marks a few millimeters in diameter on the left side of his neck and a slightly irregular heartbeat. Both suggest McGarrett was struck with an electroshock weapon shortly before being taken into custody. Along with the lack of transfer and the bullet trajectory, this led me to believe Commander McGarrett did not shoot Governor Jameson and may have been incapacitated at the time of her death. Also of note in the forensic report, an iPhone belonging to Commander McGarrett was found on the Governor’s desk with the audio recording application active, but no recording itself. I thought that further suggested McGarrett did not kill the Governor, but my conclusions fell on deaf ears and were met with open hostility by the police and prosecutors.”

“Would you be willing to testify if the case was reopened?” Tracy asked holding her breath, her heart pounding. If Dr. Bergman’s information was correct this suggested exculpatory evidence had been knowingly excluded and withheld from McGarrett’s defense. That _alone_ might be enough to get the Jameson murder conviction reversed or at least pave the way for a new trial.

“Yes. I would be happy to testify.”

~~~

 **Kono:**  
Tracy was pleasantly surprised to discover Kalakaua was cleared to meet in an attorney interview room rather than behind glass. There wasn’t even an _illusion_ of confidentiality in behind-glass interviews. The corrections officers were always well within earshot, and in Tracy’s experience, weren’t shy to share their thoughts about individual worth of a given prisoner or the merits of his or her claims. It was almost impossible to establish trust in that environment, bad enough when the inmate was requesting the service of an attorney, impossible when the interview was the attorney’s idea. Probably infinitely worse, when the attorney had been essentially deputized as a detective and tasked with ensuring there were no holes in two governments’ cases so they can go ahead and execute the inmate’s friend. The brief thrill of optimism Tracy felt was dashed moments later when Kalakaua proved to be as recalcitrant, stubborn, and uncooperative as her reputation suggested.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, or what you think you’re going to get out of me, so I’ll just cut to the chase. McGarrett is never gonna talk. Whatever admission or confession you’re hoping to wring out of him he’s never going to give it.”

Tracy opened her mouth to speak but, Kalakaua plowed on.

“If you’re hoping he’ll point the finger at someone else or give you his version of the story on why he claims innocence, you’re not going to get that either. He doesn’t talk. He isn’t going to talk. Any secrets he has anything he knows, he intends to take that to his grave, and I doubt there’s any technique you know that’s going to get him to talk. Far more... _experienced_ people have tried and failed.” Kalakaua added assessing Tracy with a candid up-down glance that brooked no question she’d judged Tracy and found her… lacking.

“I—”

“I’m not going to rat on him either. I respect Steve’s wishes.” She crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat. She wasn’t glaring at Tracy, but her expression was hard, immovable. Kalakaua was living up to her reputation. Tracy could see why Kalakaua inmates and COs alike feared her, respected her, why no one dared mess with her. She was every inch the hardened, toned, inscrutable presence she was rumored to be. She might be fine-boned and almost petite in size, but she wore knowledge and presence and experience like armor. She would not be easily dissuaded or pushed aside. She certainly couldn’t be manipulated or intimidated.

“Look,” Tracy said, leaning forward on the table, careful to avoid contact with the prisoner seated across from her. There was no need to raise the ire or suspicions of the corrections officers, after all. “I’m not asking you to rat on anyone. I’m here because enough evidence has come to light to make the Governor worried about the validity of McGarrett’s convictions, especially the capital charges. He sent me to make sure all the ducks are in a row, and if they’re not, he’s going to take appropriate action on the state level and formally request that the feds do the same.” Tracy hoped it wasn’t a lie. She was _pretty sure_ that was what the Governor intended, but he hadn’t exactly spelled it out in their conversations. From what she could tell, he was still hoping the cases would check out and no further action would be necessary. Between the Medical Examiner’s testimony and the _obvious-to-the-point-of-being-contrived_ nature of the evidence connecting McGarrett to the Hills murder—seriously, who, let alone a cop, would use their own name when illegally purchasing a stolen _mine_ he intended to use in an assassination of a government official or leave fingerprints all over the victim’s house?—Tracy had long ago reached the conclusion this investigation wasn’t going to go away. Either McGarrett’s case was getting re-opened or the Governor was going to have to make a conscious decision to bury the evidence. She looked up at Kalakaua hoping to see a hint of cooperation, maybe even excitement that the government was seriously considering reopening her mentor’s case.

Instead, her gaze was met with stony, impenetrable silence.

“Please?” she asked.

Kalakaua crossed her arms and slid backwards on her seat, unable to move the metal stool itself since it was bolted to the floor. “I get what you’re trying to do, and if you’re telling me the truth? I think it’s great. But you have to understand that the monsters you’re starting to see lurking in this case are the same monsters Steve has been trying to protect everyone from. I respect Steve and the sacrifices he’s made too much to violate his confidence.”

It was something… at least Kalakaua was suggesting there was information out there _somewhere_ to help the investigation. Tracy considered her next question carefully. “You—you may already know this, but right now the FBI is investigating threats made against your life and the lives of Ms. McGarrett and Mr. Williams. At first they thought McGarrett was behind the threats, but they’ve since determined otherwise. I’m not asking you to put yourself or anyone else in more danger, but if you know _anything_ or anyone who might be able to help, I’m begging you, give us the tools we need to make this right.”

Kalakaua was still staring at her, but now her hands were moving. She reached out for the pen and paper Tracy had placed on the table at the start of the interview and scribbled something on the top sheet before tearing it off and pushing it across the table towards Tracy.

Tracy looked down. There was a ten-digit phone number scrawled across the page.

“Call my attorney. Tell him Kono sent you, and he needs to put you in touch with J.K.” Kalakaua didn’t look at the paper while she spoke.

“J.K.?” Tracy asked.

“Lady, I’m not getting any more specific with you. Take it or leave it, but we’re done here.” With that Kalakaua pushed off the table and strode towards the reinforced door of the interview room, waving at the guards outside.

Tracy was left wondering who J.K. was and hoping maybe, finally, she’d have found the one witness who would talk.

~~~

 _Steve,_

 _I talked to Mary yesterday. We talked about a lot of different things—how her job’s going, how my work is going, whether I was going to get off my ass and just contact Grace already (her words, not mine). I know you don’t talk to her, Steve, but she’s doing well. You’d be really proud of her. She’s like a saint. Doesn’t matter what crap the FBI or Homeland Security throw at her, she just keeps going with a smile on her face. On the surface it’s like she became the perfect model citizen. Underneath, she’s still Mary, still your crazy sister who’s tougher than anyone has any right to be, who fights harder than anyone can imagine. The rest is just her way of getting back at everyone, making sure she throws them off her trail. She says she loves you and still believes in you and your innocence and wanted to let you know that nothing anyone ever says or does is going to change that. She misses you. Fuck I miss you. Every moment without you it’s like a stake is being driven further and harder into my heart. It’s not just about feeling guilty either. I used to think thst. It took me a while to understand what I was feeling, but it’s not just that._

 _We talked about other stuff. I know it’s not like me to be ineloquent, but damn it; this is really hard to write down. Mary and I talked about what we’ll do… what life is going to be like when you’re gone. Neither one of us wanted to think about it, but the date is staring us in the face, time’s ticking down, and I don’t know what we can do. So, if I fail. If I can’t save you, I need you to know we’re going to take care of each other. I can’t promise we’ll be okay, because we won’t. Can’t say we’ll be all right, because if we lose you, nothing is ever going to be right again. But that’s not on you. That’s not your fault, Steve. Never was, never will be, never could be. And I need you to know that. I need you to know a lot of things, and I can’t wait any longer. I’m sorry for being a coward for so long. You’d think with my big Jersey mouth, I wouldn’t be able to keep this shit to myself. Turns out I can if I’m lying to myself. But I gotta say it._

 _I love you. I’m in love with you Steve. I have been probably from the moment we met. Well, maybe not when you were pointing a gun at me, or when you got me shot, or when you drove a police cruiser onto the deck of a cargo ship, but somewhere in there—I don’t know exactly when, and it doesn’t really matter—I fell for you completely. I didn’t admit it for years really. But it was there. I was scared overwhelmed, and I acted like a total idiot. I ran back to Rachel because I was still in love with the idea of being with her and I didn’t see a way for us to be together. I wish I had looked harder. I wish I had had more faith in you, in me; I wish I’d been honest with myself. Maybe then I would have told you a long time ago rather than waiting until you’ve got four weeks left to live. Maybe, maybe you wouldn’t have gone to the Governor’s mansion… Maybe you wouldn’t have gone alone. Maybe I could have protected you. I’m sorry. _

_I know you’ve known how I felt for a long time. I know from how you looked at me and how hurt you were when you found Rachel in my hospital bed. I know from our conversations back when you still stayed in touch with the world. I know you had—have?—feelings for me too. I know all that, but I had to say the words. I owe it to both of us to speak the truth. Danno loves you, Steve, never forget that._

 _For a long time, I didn’t say anything because I thought it wasn’t fair. By the time I admitted to myself how I felt, you were in prison and I didn’t know if you still felt the same way. I thought you might still be mad at me about Rachel, and I didn’t want to rub it in your face. It’s not your fault if I’m out here acting like an obsessive teenager pining away for you. Not that that’s what I’ve been doing, but you know what I mean? Then, I didn’t want to break your heart. Why torment you with what you can never have. Then I worried if I gave in and told you, it would be like giving up. This is the kind of declaration—revelation—that deserves to happen face-to-face, and if I was telling you in a letter, then it would mean you were never getting out. But I realize I would regret more never saying those three words “I love you” in the right context than any of the excuses I gave myself for not telling you._

 _I realized I was cheating you, hurting you too. You’re all alone in there, apart from everyone, but you’re not not really, and you never will be. All this time, I should have been telling you that you are loved. That I love you, your ohana loves you. No matter where we are or what happens that will never change, we will never stop. I will never stop. I will be with you, stay with you, love you, no matter what. I will love you past death and beyond the end of time. Face it Steve, you’re stuck with me, like pineapple on pizza, whether you like it or not. So if you ever read this, remember that. If you’re feeling like giving up, if you’re mad at the world, grab onto me, and I’ll be there. Always with you Steve. I’ll always love you._

 _Take care of yourself. Don’t give up._

 _Love,_

 _Danno_

 _P.S. I wrote this yesterday and so much has happened in the last 24 hours I don’t know what to say. I had to tell you and since I hadn’t dropped this in the mail, I’m just throwing it on here. Please read this, Steve._

 _Something’s going on; it’s important, and you can’t give up now. About a week ago, not long after my last letter, I got a message from Chin, yes, that Chin. Fucking turncoat who ran back to HPD and bought every lie they sold even though they’d fucked him over, who helped put you away even after you saved his life, helped clear his name, never gave up on him, never stopped believing in him. I thought he’d stopped believing in you and I couldn’t forgive him. But enough about that, that’s not why I’m telling you. I’m sure you feel however you’re going to feel about Chin. Maybe you forgave him, maybe you were never angry, maybe you hate his guts, or maybe you always understood. The point is after eight years of radio silence, he calls me and tells me someone or _someones_ has been going around making threats—against me, against Mary, even against Kono. I bet they would have threatened Jenna, but not many people really know about her. Turns out the feds are investigating this, and at first they thought _you_ were coming after us. Can you believe that? Idiots._

 _Well then the FBI showed yesterday asking me questions and telling me know my life may be in danger. I told them it wasn’t you; that you had enemies. They seemed to believe me and wanted to know if I had any ideas who. I told them I’d have to think about it. I went home to think about how much I wanted to say, how much I could say without telling anyone else, and there’s this woman… this beautiful young woman waiting on my doorstep. It was Grace Steve. Grace reached out to me. Turns out one of Wo Fat’s minions delivered a message to Gracie that I was in danger. And then she went to the FBI and convinced them to take the threat seriously and she came to see me. She… she took this semester off, but is enrolled at NYU in the spring. She waited to start school until after her birthday so Rachel couldn’t stop her from going. She doesn’t blame me, she wants to get to know me, and Steve, she believes in you too. She would amaze you if you saw her, and Steve, you’ve got to hang around so you can meet her._

 _I’ve got to go—there are more investigators coming today and the Innocence Project attorneys are helping me prepare. I just need you to hold on Steve. This could be it—the break we’ve been waiting for, and I need you on board. Remember, Danno loves you._

~~~

 **Grace:**

“Come _on_ , Grace! Grac–ie, you’re up,” Tamara sing-songed across the bowling alley.

If there was one unexpected benefit to delaying the start of her college career by one semester, it was getting to spend time with high school friends who had stayed in the Chicago area for school. If she was off at NYU there would be no chance of meeting up with her friends for a casual birthday night out bowling.

Of course it was her birthday—or rather the timing of it—that had prompted the decision in the first place. Thanks to precocious prep schools and an October birthday, Grace had graduated from high school a few months shy of 18. Her mom had flat-out refused to sign any permission slips, contracts, or other college-related paperwork that would have sent Grace away from home before she reached the age of majority. So after weeks of bargaining and negotiating and begging and some arguing, Rachel had _finally_ consented to let Grace attend NYU if she waited until the spring semester. In the end Rachel had only threatened to move the family (her, Grace, and Grace’s little brother Jesse) back to Manchester twice and she’d limited her comments about the “unsavory character” of the New York–New Jersey area to a record minimum (only five comments over three days of discussion). So Grace was counting it as a win and a sign of progress. Her mom was finally coming around to the understanding she wouldn’t be able to prevent Grace from seeking out her father forever. As far as Grace had been able to discover in her research, Danno was a paralegal and investigator at the original Innocence Project associated with Cardozo Law School, but located in lower Manhattan, helping to free people like Uncle Steve, who’d been convicted of crimes they didn’t commit. NYU was close, to him; so close she’d finally be able to see him now that she was old enough to choose for herself.

It had taken a little more negotiating with the registrar’s office and admissions committee, but they were excited enough to get someone with Grace’s “diverse” background and outstanding marks (she hadn’t busted her butt to graduate in the top five of her class without a goal in mind) to accommodate her. So, now she was interning with a local defense attorney and reading every book on criminal justice she could get her hands on. She was going to follow in her dad’s footsteps and be a detective. Doubt and guilt by association may have ended his career early, but she had always admired his conviction and dedication—he’d been a cop for all the right reasons. He believed in procedure, respecting people’s rights and keeping the public safe. And ever since she was eight and a half and her world imploded around her that was all she wanted to do.

“Grace?” Tamara called again.

“Just a second,” Grace called back, her gaze intent on the strange, casually dressed man hovering in the lobby of the bowling alley. There was something about him that struck her as _wrong_. It pinged her senses, pattern recognition kept telling her _fear_ was an appropriate reaction, even though there was nothing outwardly menacing about his appearance. He just seemed out of place. He was too alert, older than the mostly teen and twenty-something crowd that had flocked to the bowling alley, and moved with a silent conservation of movement Grace had seen a lot when Danno and Uncle Steve were still in her life. She took a step closer to him, away from his friends, and he caught her eye.

He was looking directly at her, assessing. She stood transfixed unable to look away. Unsure whether she should be running for her life or calling the police or just leaving this guy alone. Before she could decide, he broke the connection and took five purposeful strides towards her, stopping about three feet away, just outside the “bowling shoes required” area of the facility.

“I know who you are, Grace Williams. I am delivering this message because my superior wants you to know why tragedy must befall you once again. I know your father was a cop. I know he remains loyal to Steve McGarrett, and in his loyalty, his life is forfeit. Your father is marked for death. You have been warned.” The man’s voice was hardened and icy as he spoke, and he was entirely _present_ , the seriousness and lucidity of his words eliminating any hope he was just some crazy guy who had heard Grace’s name and was ranting out a tall tale. She took in every detail of his appearance—close-cropped light brown hair, khaki slacks, blue plaid button-down shirt, brown belt, black boots—size eleven. He was six two, 200 pounds of solidly built muscle, and before she could compose herself to react, he was already out the front door.

“Stop!” Grace called out. “Somebody call the police!” But it was too late; the man was already out the door.

“Grace?” It was Vikram, one of her friends with whom she was supposed to be _celebrating_. “What’s going on? Who was that man did he threaten you?” Vik’s tone was alarmed, his brown eyes wide and terrified.

“No,” Grace croaked out, still trying to find her voice. Someone from the front desk was approaching, cell phone in hand, probably already on the line with the 911 operator trying to explain the reason for the call. She was going to have to explain. Here friends didn’t even know, and she was going to have to explain. “No, he threatened to kill my father. He knew who I was.” She dragged her focus back to her immediate surroundings, belatedly realizing her entire cadre of friends—Vik, Tamara, Claire, Asher, and Kiya—had gathered around her.

“But Grace, you don’t even know your father, do you? I mean does your mom even know who your birth father was?” Claire blurted in surprise.

Grace leveled a glare at her.

“I’m not saying your mom’s a slut, chill. I just—she’s so independent. I figured she decided to have a kid on her own and might not know the sperm donor,” Claire added.

“My mom was married twice. My dad had visitation until I was nine,” she said matter-of-factly, feeling distant, detached. Her body was cold. Maybe she was going into shock. “That man was a professional, probably an assassin, and he just told me his boss has ordered a hit on my dad.” Grace wasn’t going to be able to wait any longer, she _had_ to go see Danno now.

~~~

 **The Second Investigation Begins:**

The Chicago Police Department was taking Grace’s complaint with about as much belief, tact, and professionalism as her friends had displayed. She’d given her statement and tried a dozen times to request they bring in the FBI. All she’d gotten was a series of alternatingly amused and annoyed officers. The two who were interviewing her had summoned a third, and nothing had happened in the last half hour. It was approaching midnight, and her mom would panic if she stayed out much later without calling.

The two officers had joined their colleague in the doorway and were now muttering amongst themselves. Great. They probably thought Grace was crazy or paranoid, or maybe pulling a prank... Although that last one was probably less likely. Sure she was a teenager, barely an adult, and was hanging out with teenaged friends when the encounter took place, but she knew from experience she was more likely to read as over-privileged, paranoid, upper class white girl, than as a teenage prankster. The stereotype and privileges and limitations bothered the hell out of her most of the time, but in this situation they were probably playing to her advantage. The cops were probably trying to figure out how to convince her she was overreacting rather than thinking she was intentionally wasting their time. But if that was what they were thinking, she was never going to get them to listen.

"Excuse me," she said, then again louder, " _Excuse_ me!" They still weren't listening. _So much for that._ She let the cultured, refined persona drop. "Hey, I'm talking to you. I've been trying to tell you something."

That got their attention. Three heads looked up and turned her way, the newcomer's face was caught in a sour lemon expression that suggested he was hastily reevaluating Grace, and didn't like the conclusion he'd now reached.

"Miss, there's no need to yell," the older detective, Stewart, according to his desk's nameplate, said.

The young, uniformed officer with the air of a rookie whose uniform proclaimed him Officer Lee spoke next. "I'm sorry ma'am, we don't mean to keep you waiting. We're just trying to decide—"

She didn't let him finish. "Do you know who Steve McGarrett is?"

The newcomer's expression became even more sour, "Excuse me?"

"Steven J. McGarrett, I assume you've heard of him?" She resisted the temptation to tap her foot in impatience.

"Well yes—" said the Detective.

"You mean..." That was the rookie.

"Yes, that Steve McGarrett—"

This time the newcomer cut her off. "Miss, I'm not seeing how this is relevant."

"How about Danny or Daniel Williams, are you familiar with him?" she tried.

“Wasn’t he the cop—McGarrett’s partner, maintained McGarrett’s innocence throughout trial?” the rookie asked.

“Yeah, and had to leave the force, no one in his right mind would work with that guy,” Jones added flippantly.

“My name is Grace Williams. Daniel Williams is my father. I knew Steve McGarrett as a kid. Someone, clearly a professional, probably a hit man or cleaner, just called me out by name and told me my father was marked for death because of his association with Steve. So you go do whatever you need to do and get on your phone and get someone from the FBI ASAP!”

~~~

 **The Investigations Collide:**

Special Agent Timothy Jones had been scratching his head and tugging his hair ever since being assigned to this case. What a frigging mess! It had started when the FBI office in Los Angeles got a call from a cop in Hawai’i saying he’d received credible threats on the lives of two individuals and the FBI needed to get involved because those individuals were in two different states. Then it came out the “individuals” were actually Mary Garrett, adopted name of Mary Ann McGarrett, sister of the most infamous domestic terrorist, and Kono Kalakaua, former police officer in prison on felony counts of grand larceny, defrauding the State of Hawai’i and abusing her position as law enforcement officer. Oh, and Kalakaua was also the cop’s _cousin_ and he was actually the Deputy Chief of Police in Honolulu.

Jones and his team had started their investigation. Then they got a call from the Chicago PD—turns out McGarrett’s ex-partner’s now-adult kid received a similar threat against her father and wasted no time pushing the issue to the FBI. The original theory had been perhaps McGarrett was threatening people from within prison. Four interviews later they were convinced it _wasn’t_ McGarrett, but they were no closer to figuring out who might be behind the threats because as soon as he broached the issue, the witnesses all sealed up tighter than clams and stopped cooperating.

Now he was in New York preparing to interview Williams—the threatened ex-partner, and talking to a specially appointed investigator from the state of Hawai’i who had apparently been tasked with resolving “irregularities” in the conviction process.

“I don’t know what your success has been like, but to be honest our investigation is going nowhere,” Detective Tony Jones said with a regretful sigh. He was walking in Columbus Park, where he’d finally managed to catch up with an attorney named something Li. He wasn’t sure what the thinking was behind that, but he hoped she at least had gathered some _tricks_ to getting the recalcitrant witnesses to cooperate. Never in his fifteen-year career with the Bureau had he seen such uniform silence and evasion on the part of witnesses.

“No one’s talking. Well, almost no one. The local ME was very forthcoming, but beyond that the most I’ve gotten is the initials of a contact or witness who refuses to discuss the case over the telephone,” Ms. Li replied, shooting Tony a smile. “Sorry, but I’m pretty sure we’re not doing any better than you on this front.”

“We’ve figured out it’s not McGarrett behind the threats and everyone’s lying about _something_. As to who is actually out there threatening citizens, we’ve got no clue. No one will cooperate.” He could almost hear himself whining.

“You know, we could always try what they do in a _normal_ case,” Ms. Li quipped.

“Yeah, what’s that?” Tony said absently.

Ms. Li stopped walking. “We offer them immunity, protective custody… whatever makes them feel safe enough to start talking, preferably honestly,” she suggested, her grin getting bigger in response to Tony’s dumbfounded reaction.

“This is a capital case… the crimes are—” he protested.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but none of the witnesses will talk. Most of them have already lost a lot. We have no leverage, and the most talkative witness is a cop. Meanwhile we’ve got someone on the loose making death threats, and reasonable doubts popping up left and right. My investigation has the potential to reopen McGarrett’s case, so you’d think his friends would be tripping over each other to testify, but they’re not. Whatever they’re scared of, you and I don’t factor in at all.” Li seemed remarkably unperturbed by this declaration, but then again, she’d probably had time to absorb the nature of her investigation from the beginning, whereas Tony had wound up with a mess on his hands after he tried and failed to convince a rich eighteen-year-old the crazy man who’d approached her at a bowling alley really wasn’t a threat.

“Immunity? Seriously?” he asked.

“If you want them to talk, yeah.”

Jones rested his face on his hands and shook his head. “I’m going to have to take this up with my boss, but you’re right.” They walked in silence for a few moments, and by the time they parted ways later that afternoon, Jones knew he would be asking for all sorts of compromises and immunity. Otherwise no one would talk, no matter how hard he tried.

~~~

 **Danny:**

“Danny?”

“Yeah, uh Marie?” Danny asked, stumbling over the name of the volunteer extern who was currently standing in his office doorway looking abnormally skittish.

“There’re some cops and attorneys here to see you. They said it’s related to the McGarrett case and someone trying to kill you,” she answered nervously.

“Tell them I’m coming—front conference room?” Danny confirmed.

“Sure thing,” she agreed and darted off down the hallway.

Danny turned back to his laptop and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. This amicus brief on exoneree compensation was just going to have to wait. He pushed his chair back and stood, stretching.

“So, any clue what this is about?”

Danny jumped, “Ow! Warn a guy,” he muttered clutching his lower back where the sudden movement had triggered and unpleasant twinge. Janice, was standing in the doorway shooting him a wan smile. “Sorry, I’ve got no clue.” A million horrible ideas ranging from Steve taking his own life a few weeks ahead of his execution to the Board of Prisons objecting to Danny and Mary’s funeral arrangements in the event the execution went forward as scheduled raced through his mind. “Shiiiit,” he added shakily, stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop the trembling.

“Like I said before, just let me know if you need time. We’re here for you, all the way, no matter what. And each and every exoneree and family member has got your back.” She gave Danny’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he walked past and drifted back into her office while he made the slow trudge to the conference room.

Thirty minutes later, Danny was shocked to learn he was still capable of being surprised. A joint investigation into death threats leveled against him because of his association with Steve was nowhere on the list of possibilities. “So let me get this straight, you think Steve is trying to have me killed?” he asked incredulously.

“We believe the same individual leveled threats against McGarrett’s sister and Ms. Kalakaua, your former colleague, and we’re trying to determine on whose orders this individual is acting,” Jones, the FBI agent answered.

Danny slouched in his seat, for once not even caring that it looked grossly unprofessional. “Look, I’m going to do you a favor and get you to stop wasting your time. Steve is my best friend,” the words only hurt a little as the last five years without _talking_ to Steve stretched out behind him, mockingly. “I’ve always supported him and believed in his innocence. The same goes for his sister and Kono. Steve would never hurt any of us.”

“Thank you for confirming that, Mr. Williams. We’d actually begun to believe that but needed you to independently verify it for us,” Ms. Li, the Governor’s lackey responded.

“Well good, does that mean you’re going to actually do some police work and find out who’s threatening my life and stop harassing my friend on death row?” he asked bitterly. “How’d you even find out about the threats, anyway?”

The interview continued. They let slip _Grace_ had received the threat against him and had fought tooth and nail to make sure it came to the FBI’s attention. He was so overwhelmed with pride for his daughter and relief at hearing she was okay, he almost fell for their sneaky attempt to extract information about “which of Mr. McGarrett’s enemies might be behind the threat.” He stopped himself before he said Wo Fat’s name, and told the truth—if he talked, they were just going to wind up with more dead bodies on their hands, and one of them would likely be his.

They went around and around for another two hours before the investigators finally decided to call it quits _for now_ , cheerily slipping him their cards and promising they would be in touch. He just nodded and waved and sagged with relief when they were finally gone.

It was quiet and late when he finally dragged himself out of the conference room and back to his office to collect his things. While they’d been talking he’d seen a young, vaguely familiar-looking woman with dark blonde hair waiting in the lobby. She was gone now, so he hoped whatever she’d needed the other staff had been able to help her. Sometimes family members requested Danny specifically for their interviews and he hated letting anyone down. He was so exhausted, he was starting to think he should take Janice up on her offer and just take the time off. The prospect of that much time to focus on Steve’s case was thrilling, but terrifying. Without other people for Danny to help, other work to distract him, he wasn’t sure how long he’d stay sane, especially not with Steve’s execution date ticking ever closer.

He dozed off on the train on the way back to his Brooklyn apartment and only woke up as they were pulling into his stop. He was so groggy on the walk back to his building, he almost thought he was hallucinating when he arrived home to find a woman—the same young woman he’d seen at the office—waiting on his front steps. Danny spent about ten seconds feeling very freaked out that he might have a _stalker_ on top of everything else (and one who was apparently skilled enough to extract information from his personnel file without getting caught), when she looked up—

Dark blonde hair with a slight gentle wave fell past her shoulders; wide brown eyes smiled up at him out of a heart-shaped face; long, toned athletic limbs, and wearing a pink sweatshirt over jeans. She was so grown up and so different, but unmistakably—

“Grace?”

“Danno?” Grace sprang to her feet. “Oh my god… Danno, it’s really you.” She said the last words into his hair as she flung her arms around him, crushing Danny to her and holding on for dear life. She was at least three inches taller than him, maybe taller than Rachel.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around how _big_ his little girl had gotten, so he didn’t even try. All that mattered was she was here. “I’m so sorry Gracie, I wanted to see you. I should have told your mother what was happening with Steve before he was arrested. I wouldn’t have stood you guys up at the flight I—”

“I was never angry at you, so just stop right there,” Grace scolded, leaning back enough so they could see each other. Her face broke into an enormous smile when he met her eyes. It reminded him so much of eight-year-old Grace that Danny’s eyes had filled with tears before he knew what hit him. Grace was tearing up too. “I understood and I never doubted you. Danno loves me, right?”

“Ri—right,” Danny managed around the lump in this throat, patting Grace’s back gently.

“I hoped I’d get here before doubtful and hyper interviewed you,” she added. Danny must have scowled in confusion, because she added, “Sorry, my pet names for the investigators. They’re way better than the hapless officers I first talked to in Chicago, and they seem to really care about finding out what went wrong in Uncle Steve’s case, so I think you can trust them. Especially the one working for the Governor,” Grace explained.

“How did you, how are you? Here? Now?” Danny stammered, suddenly aware they were still standing on his doorstep in the near-dark on a chilly October night having the most emotional reunion he’d ever had in his life. “Can we—mind if we go inside?”

Grace was already leading the way though, pulling Danny by the hand up the steps and waiting for him to unlock the door. “I’m going to be attending NYU in the spring. I’d been hoping maybe you’d contact me on my birthday, but then I figured mom had scared you away, and that was also the day I got the threat, so I came as soon as I could.”

As Danny let them into his apartment Grace turned to him and said, “I know you can do it, Danno. I know you can save Steve, and I want to be there to help you get back our ohana.”

It was all Danny could do to hug Grace and cry, holding on for dear life after his knees buckled. All his fears about Grace evaporated in an instant. For the first time in almost ten years, Danny had gotten a piece of his life back, and what an enormous piece it was.

~~~

 _Steve,_

 _Don’t think about the clock or how much time’s left. Today, don’t even worry about all those “developments” I mentioned in my last letter. I wanna share with you this kind of fantasy I have sometimes when I’m feeling lost. It’s nothing as exciting or kinky as the word “fantasy” would suggest. I just like to think about—visualize—what our lives would be like if everything hadn’t gone totally wrong. I hadn’t allowed myself to indulge my imagination in months, but since Gracie stopped by, I’m starting to think anything is possible again._

 _Imagine we’re not stuck where we are—you in prison with that clock ticking down the moments of your life; me no longer a cop, no longer a father, no longer a partner, tilting at windmills to restore justice and freedom to others. Instead we’re just two regular guys living out our lives. I try to convince you to come back to New Jersey, but you refuse to stay for longer than a two-week visit. You pretend to hate it, but every time we visit, you’re a perfect gentlemen to my parents, you help out my sisters, entertain the nieces and nephews. No matter how much you protest, I know you love it. But I also know you love Hawai‘i more, so we live there, in your beautiful house with its private beach. You surf every day, and sometimes you even drag me kicking and screaming into the waves. We grill stakes and sit in the sand, or drink beers out on the lanai. I complain every time you insist on sticking pineapple on perfectly good food—like pizza—and I bitch and moan and complain and you tease me about it, but there are no hard feelings, no genuine disapproval. It’s a familiar song and dance, our protestations are just a part of who we are. You know I don’t really mind Hawai‘i, just like I know you don’t mind Jersey, but you let me keep the illusion of living there under protest._

 _We still work, maybe still together, maybe not, but at the end of each day we come home to each other. We tell crazy stories and know all the inside jokes. You still try to drive my damn car too much, and I still nag you about your destructive tendencies. Grace comes over after school and on the weekends and she hands out with her dads, because we’re both important to her. We’ve watched her grow up, we’ve been there for every success and failure and disappointment and moment of rebellion, every victory in her life, and she’s turning out to be an awesome woman. She’s going away to college and we’ll miss her, but we’ll just have one more place to visit and complain about, and she’ll know we don’t really mind, and don’t really disapprove of her college’s location; it’s just part of who we are. We wouldn’t be Williamses or McGarretts without a little vocal disagreement._

 _Our ohana surrounds us and shares our joys as we share theirs. Life isn’t always easy or happy and we’ve had our share of disappointments and heartbreaks, but I like to think we’ve always been there for each other, and as long as we haven’t lost sight of that, we’ve leaned on each other to make it through._

 _But our lives aren’t just about friends and greeting card moments. We fuck a lot, make love—you’re endlessly amused you can make me speechless, and I like to make you lose control while I show you my mouth and hands have more pleasurable uses than talking. Sometimes it’s hot and heavy, sometimes we’re desperate, other times we take it slow… we’ve got no premium on time and I like to draw out our pleasure. Afterwards, we collapse in bed. I bitch about you being a human furnace while you complain I steal all the covers (which makes us bicker about why covers are even necessary in the tropics)._

 _I’d write more details, but this is probably “prurient” enough already, and I’d like you to actually get to read my letters rather than seeing them censored (and the mailroom guys don’t deserve the show)._

 _What do you imagine, Steve? How do you see us? Do we have a life together? Are we still orbiting each other, never quite saying what we mean to each other? Do our egos get in the way? Or did we wise up early on? Are we celebrating a ninth anniversary?_

 _I wish you would read this and tell me what you think. I try to imagine what you imagine, but it’s not quite the same._

 _I miss you , Steve. Hang on, stay strong. I’m still fighting to keep my promise. I love you._

 _Love always,_

 _Danno_

~~~

 **The Investigator and the Governor:**

“Are you trying to tell me they’re all lying?”

Tracy looked down at the phone in her hand like it might bite her. She didn’t need to see Gov. Denning’s face to know he was scowling. In her mind’s eye she could see the vein pulsing in his temple threatening to burst at any moment.

She resumed pacing and let out a sigh, holding the phone far enough from her mouth she hoped the speaker wouldn’t pick up the sound. “No sir. Not lying. But they all know more than they’re saying, and they all seem to have different reasons for _not_ saying it. They’re protecting someone they’re protecting each other. They’re afraid of making things worse. They’re scared for their lives. They’ve got no confidence in the system. They’re being selfish and don’t want to lose what they have left. They’re certain no one would believe them. They’ve already tried talking, and it didn’t turn out well. Or they don’t want to speak because it would be a violation of trust.” Tracy sat down hard on the end of the queen bed that currently housed her case files, folders bouncing behind her as the mattress sprung and flexed.

“Loyalty to McGarrett, you mean,” Denning discerned, his tone more defeated than annoyed.

“Primarily.” She caught her hair in her free hand and tugged. It did nothing for her frustration or weariness. “I’m not clear on the details, but it seems that McGarrett’s been keeping his silence to protect everyone else.”

“Protect them from what? Are you suggesting they were all in on assassinating—”

“No,” she interrupted, cutting off the Governor’s rant before it could escalate to a tirade. “There may be some details that could paint his former colleagues or his sister in a negative light, but I get the idea those aren’t very significant and they’re not the main reason he’s kept his mouth shut. I he’s been trying to protect them from our mystery threat maker.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. She could hear Governor Denning thinking. The telltale squeak meant he was leaning back in his chair, probably rubbing his temples in frustration. “Are you telling me the Deputy Chief of the Honolulu PD has been lying?” The concern in his voice was drifting into weariness. Chin Ho Kelly was widely regarded as the one bright spot to come out of the whole “Five-0 debacle,” and the Governor very famously agreed with that assessment. After all Kelly’s name had been cleared, his unswerving loyalty and protection of family and his objectivity in arresting and serving as a witness against McGarrett had propelled him to near superstardom in the HPD’s ranks and promotion after promotion had followed.

“Deputy Chief Kelly has been more forthcoming than anyone else in the investigation. From what the FBI has shared, it sounds like recent events have helped some long-standing doubts and suspicions to slip into greater relief,” she replied choosing her words carefully.

“Doubts?”

“Primarily about the Hills murder. He thinks McGarrett was framed,” Tracy said, bracing for the outburst that was sure to follow.

Denning didn’t disappoint. “And he’s just coming forward with this _now_?” The Governor’s ire exploded through the phone, causing Tracy to flinch away from it. “He testified—”

“His testimony on the Hills murder charge was limited to evidence that Hills was blackmailing McGarrett, he had no direct knowledge McGarrett knew she was blackmailing him before her death. The rest of his testimony concerned the Jameson murder charge, treason, and the other various and sundry felonies McGarrett committed in his flight. Apparently he always had his doubts, but with no other suspects and all the evidence pointing at McGarrett…” She let her voice trail off. “Kelly’s close to McGarrett’s sister. When he found out about the threats against her, he came forward. I think—I think he’s still holding something back, but I don’t believe it has anything to do with the murders, not directly anyway.”

“Jesus,” Governor Denning cursed. A faint thud followed, signaling he’d dropped his chair back on all legs. “So, are you done in New Jersey, and where will you be heading next? Or are you ready to return to Hawai‘i?”

“Sir, I have a feeling I’ve barely scratched the surface. If you want to say you investigated the concerns and leave it to the feds to make their own choices, I can stop now.” Tracy bit her lip, letting the statement hang between them. She couldn’t sit still any longer, the need to move to shake off some of the pent up anxiety overwhelmed her. She stood and resumed her pacing. This was the kind of moral dilemma, ethical conundrum she’d desperately hoped to avoid in her career, but ever since picking up McGarrett’s file she’d had a feeling she was cruising towards it. Her authority came from the Governor and was acting on his orders. The ironic similarity of her role to the original stated mission of the doomed Five-0 taskforce wasn’t lost on her. But this was the Governor’s call. She had to put her own feelings aside, make sure the Governor knew enough to make an informed decision… Let him decide if he wanted to deal with the fallout from the shit storm poking further was sure to stir up.

Of course if she did that, she’d still be responsible. Still be on the hook. And she’d be no better than the people who, for whatever reasons, made a mess of the case the first time around.

“Are you recommending I allow this execution to go forward without protest?” Denning sounded skeptical; the same edge that had been in his voice during their first meeting was back, like he was bracing to be disappointed by her, fearful her ethics or analytical skills were oversold.

“I’m trying to offer you plausible deniability and giving you fair warning. If I go forward—I think headlines bleating about a miscarriage of justice are going to be some of our more positive results.” She gulped, holding her breath, pausing momentarily in her pacing.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re withholding evidence to _protect_ me now too?” Governor Denning asked, the weary resignation in his voice tinged with almost fond amusement.

“Jenna Kaye.” Tracy waited to see if the Governor would recognize the name and resumed walking figure-eights around her hotel room.

“Former CIA analyst? Consulted with Five-0 on a few cases… Determined the nature of the explosive device that killed Laura Hills? That Jenna Kaye?” Denning asked sounding surprised.

Tracy didn’t answer directly. Instead she paced over to the nightstand where the courier envelope that had greeted her upon her return to the hotel now sat. She turned the envelope over in her hands and slowly pulled out the papers inside, her eyes catching on the name highlighted in red: _Wo Fat_. With a sigh, she continued, “She also tried to testify on McGarrett’s behalf at trial, but for evidentiary reasons I still cannot discern, her testimony was limited to the construction of the explosive device, which linked to the _convenient_ evidence connecting the device to McGarrett. The record is amazingly opaque. It appears there were credibility challenges, impeachment evidence was going to be offered. Something about her going rogue from the CIA and a dead fiancé… She didn’t testify further, and she disappeared off the face of the earth. Well, one of the other witnesses led me to her contact information. So far I’ve only had phone contact followed by a letter delivered by courier.”

She set the papers back down on the nightstand, tracing the name with her fingers. “Governor, there’s a name here. I ran it by the FBI and apparently this individual is like the CIA’s boogeyman. If this person really does exist and really was involved with both murders like Ms. Kaye apparently has evidence to suggest…”

“You’re saying we may be in over our heads, and McGarrett’s actions are starting to take on a whole different light?” Gov. Denning guessed.

Tracy looked down at the story spelled out in black and white on the papers before her.

 _McGarrett had ample circumstantial evidence to suggest Governor Jameson was knowingly in league with Wo Fat and the organized crime elements under his command and had personally ordered Wo Fat to assassinate Hills because Hills had discovered the Governor’s involvement and was attempting to tip off McGarrett. McGarrett figured out Hills’ message, but only after her death. I believe McGarrett then obtained stronger evidence of the Governor’s complicity, but through unlawful means. If deemed to be acting in his duty as a law enforcement officer this evidence was clearly the result of an illegal search and seizure, and it would have been difficult (but not impossible) to admit in a criminal trial against Gov. Jameson. It should have been much simpler to introduce this as potentially exculpatory evidence to assist McGarrett’s defense, but it was never offered into evidence. However, a police report compiled when the Jameson murder scene was processed includes reference to this evidence. Its import is not immediately clear out of context, but once all the clues are linked, the evidence torpedoes the case against McGarrett in the Hills murder. Taken in conjunction with additional clues from the Jameson Murder scene, I believe I can prove McGarrett didn’t kill her—or at least convince a judge to grant him a new trial._

“You could say that,” she said. “Although I think that might be putting it too lightly,” Tracy added.

“But you’re not going to tell me?” Denning pleaded.

“Not over the phone, sir, and not before I’ve spoken to Kaye in person. If we are dealing with the boogeyman of international organized crime and terrorism, we can’t be too careful.” Tracy personally wanted to round up everyone she’d talked to in the last week and stick them all—including herself—in protective custody or witness protection in the most ridiculously unsuspecting place possible. Even then she doubted they’d be “safe.”

“Ahh, all right, fine. Go do what you need to do. I’ll batten down the hatches on this end and prepare for whatever effluent your questions stir up. But I expect a full report as soon as practicably feasible,” Denning agreed with a sigh.

“I’m working out how to do that right now, sir.”

~~~~

 _Steven,_

 _Please read this letter. If you open one piece of mail, if you lay eyes on one missive, let it be this one. There's an investigation, a real investigation happening right now, actually from what I've gathered there are two or were two, and somewhere along the way they crossed paths and now they're working together. I know there's only a week left, I know they're still telling you you've got a week, but you can't give in. You need to hang on and fight. You need to tell the truth. You need to remember who you are and why you made the choices you did and find it in you to believe in justice. Because we actually have a chance. No, we will win. I won't let it end this way. Not when we're so close. I love you too much for that._

 _Let me back up a little. I don't know if this will get censored or if they'll let you hear abouy what's going on in your case. I'm ccing your attorney just in case he's got means talk to you. I've been working with the attorney's at my organization to petition the governor, the new governor, to review your case. Turns out Jenna was doing the same thing, and so was Mary, annonymously (don't be mad at her; she loves you, and she's been extremely careful). The governor finally listened and began digging into Laura Hills' murder. Everyone—even Chin—came forward with information that didn't make it to trial the first time around. The Governor's been listening, and now he's leaning on the feds to reopen your case. That could at least cast enough doubt on the capital charges to buy you—us—time. But this other investigation, the one I told you about a few weeks ago, with the feds looking intobthreats against us? Now they've finally convinced themselves you're not trying to kill your family and staunchest supporters from behind bars, they're starting to invesigate Wo Fat and _all_ his associates. I don't know if there's enough to lead them everywhere they need to go, but they're finding evidence they've never found before, connections we never had. They've started talking to known associates, other convicts. _

_I know you've believed for at least a few years now the only good (least bad) thing you could do was maintain the status quo. It took me a long time to understand, but I get it now. You've been protecting us, hoping your silence and not pursuing Wo Fat would at least buy us some security. You thought if you sacrificed yourself and called a truce, it would stop him from coming after us. I can't put into words how grateful I am for you and everything you would do for me, for all of us. But Steven, Wo Fat isn't playing by the rules. He's not honoring your truce. He's coming after me, Mary,Kono, and probably anyone else who's ever supported you. Sacrificing yourself isn't going to make us safe. It's just going to add one more tally in Wo Fat's victory column. I think this is it, our opportunity, the chance we never had nine and a half years ago to tell the truth and clear your name. While we're at it maybe we'll help Kono too, and maybe, just maybe, you and I will get to be together._

 _I know there are risks. But hell, even Chin is on board and there are details that could cost him his career, again, if in the wrong hands. (I wouldn't say we've made peace, but he had the decency to clue me in on what was happening with the investigation on his side of the world, so we're kind of negotiating a cease fire.) I'm tired of running from my past. I'm sick of losing, and I don't want to lose any more time on regrets. Most of all, I don't want to lose you, but I need your help. Please, Steve, it's time to talk. Help me save you._

 _Hang in there!_

 _Love,_

 _Danno_

 _P.S. No matter what happens, know that I love you, always._

~~~

 **Steve:**

 _Wo Fat’s gun was trained on Danny’s chest. He was only feet away. At this range he’d never miss and Danny would never get clear._

 _“Please no,” Steve begged. “Don’t do this. Take me instead. I haven’t touched you, haven’t come after you, I’ll die and take your secret to the grave. I’m not a loose end, I swear—”_

 _But Steve’s protest was cut short by the deafening “bang” of Wo Fat’s gun firing. Nine millimeter, three shots to the chest at close range._

 _Danny’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth open in in an “O” of protest, hands raised in surrender, but even as Steve dove for him, he knew Danny was dead before he hit the floor, and Steve was left holding Danny’s lifeless corpse as the blood soaked into his prison uniform and stained his hands._

 _“No, no,” he cried. “Why? You don’t need to take him, take me instead… Me instead…”_

Steve awoke with a jolt and a gasp, jackknifing upwards in bed, grateful for the third time this week Death Row was single celled, otherwise he’d have brained himself on the non-existent top bunk after each nightmare. First it had been Mary, then Kono, and now Danny—ever since the Jones and Li had questioned him, he’d been having nightmares. He kept seeing them dead, the blood on his hands, unable to stop it, unable to save them no matter what he tried.

His silence, his decision to stop digging, it was supposed to buy their freedom. He didn’t go after Wo Fat, and Wo Fat left Steve’s family along. But the words from his dream kept coming back to him—“loose ends”—everyone who had ever heard of Wo Fat knew he hated loose ends and would never let one live, no matter how “compliant” the witness was.

As cold sweat began to trickle down his face and neck and onto his already-drenched uniform he started to wonder if maybe Danny was right. Maybe it _was_ time to talk. He’d felt disoriented, adrift, since he started reading Danny’s letters—five years of resolution to keep his distance breaking down with a few well-placed words from his attorney. And now his nightmares were convincing him to take a chance he’d sworn of ever considering. This could end so badly—he could bring everyone else down with him—

 _You could also clear your name, find a way to freedom,_ a voice that sounded remarkably like Danny said in his head.

“O—okay,” Steve whispered aloud, his voice rusty with disuse. “Okay,” he whispered again. He could do it, he would talk… but first, he had a couple of letters to write to Mary and Danny. If this failed, they deserved to know he tried.

~~~

 **The Investigator:**

The interviews, when they began, shocked the governor. It hadn’t required nearly as many promises of immunity or witness protection as any of them had expected—Tracy had a feeling they’d all been waiting for something else, and her suspicions were confirmed when McGarrett’s attorney contacted her and announced his client would be willing to consent to an interview.

But the _content_ of the interviews were the real shocker. They stunned even Tracy, and floored Special Agent Jones. Tracy knew because she’d been in the room sitting next to him when Deputy Chief Kelly recounted the story of how he was freed from Victor Hesse’s bomb. By the time Kalakaua, Williams, McGarrett, and informant San Ming had testified, she had developed a full appreciation for the sense of isolation Kelly must have experienced all these years. Governor Jameson had essentially damned him to die, when she denied the rest of Five-0 access to the ransom money. Add in the probability she had actually participated in (or at least approved) the decision to kill Kelly, and the withdrawal of immunity for Five-0 in connection with the ten million dollars, and you had a nightmare on your hands.

And so the interviews went, one after another. New revelations coming forth each time. Jenna Kaye—J.K. of course—stunned them all with her meticulous research and analysis, and combining her list of Wo Fat’s known associates together with Grace Williams’ description, and they _finally_ knew who had been contracted to murder McGarrett’s supporters. By the end of the day he was in custody and looking like he’d consider talking.

There would be more inquiries and likely legislative and congressional testimony. But by the end of the day on Friday, a mere three days after McGarrett had agreed to talk, and four days and change before his scheduled execution, they had a resolution at least for now. When the President and Governor finished their unprecedented joint press conference on prime-time television, Tracy walked from the room with shaking hands and sank to the floor. She was slumped against the wall in the White House press room, but she didn’t care. The toughest case of her life, and she hadn’t even stepped inside a court room for its duration. At least maybe now, there would be some justice for the dead and survivors alike.

~~~

 _Mare,_

 _I know it's been years since we've spoken, and once again that's mostly my fault, but I hope you can understand that I did it to keep you safe. It's not that I don't want justice for Mom and Dad, but that I don't want them to get you too. This war—and that's what it is, an undeclared, secret war being run in our backyards and hometowns under the noses of law enforcement and with the blessings of politicians—has already cost us too much. Wo Fat already got me and Dad and Mom and Ms. Hills and Jenna's boyfriend. His associates tried to kill Chin and have stolen a decade of Kono's life along with her career. I know Danny lost Grace and his chance at having a family again. And there are countless more with similar stories whose names I'll never know. I feel responsible to you, for you, all of you, and I've tried to make up for it as much as I could. I believe—believed—I could take the fall and the war would spare you. But I've come to realize you are all individuals. You're not military, not SEALs. You aren't trained to follow orders, and you think for yourself, all of you do. And I cannot ask you to be someone else. Thank you, Mary, for reminding me of who you are. No matter what happens, I'll be glad to have you carrying on. You make me proud._

 _Now I have to ask a favor. No matter what happens please make sure Danny gets this letter (it's the other page in this envelope). I owe him an explanation and answers and I may not get another chance, so please, sis, make sure he gets this._

 _Love,_

 _your brother Steve_

~~~

 _Danny,_

 _I’m sorry. I—I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long, but I told myself it would only hurt us both. So, I didn’t read your letters. I stopped talking to everyone. It’s lonely here and hopeless. Dry and hot, cold in the winter; I never see the sun. It’s nothing like prisons I was in overseas the few times when ops went bad. The Navy’s training didn’t… there’s nothing that could prepare me for this. There’s no hope. Twenty-three hours a day in a tiny concrete box. The guards don’t talk, or if they do it’s only to tell you what a monster they think you are and how much they wish they could see you fry instead of getting the easy way out by lethal injection. They told me I couldn’t talk to anyone, so I never tried to write. Didn’t ask for paper or a pencil. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I gave up, but Danny—I’m not innocent in all this. I played into Governor Jameson’s hands. I took the freedom she gave me and ran with it. I thought I was above the law. I thought I was doing good work, saving lives, cleaning up the island, stopping criminals who didn’t care about human life or rights, who answered only to their twisted moral code. I didn’t even stop to question it. I didn’t think. And all the while I was playing right into her hands, into Wo Fat’s hands, enabling the people who murdered my parents, while I fell for the bait and kept myself entertainingly busy while they kept destroying lives._

 _I feel responsible for Laura Hills’ death. She tried for months to send me a message, and I never heard it, never figured it out. It cost her life, and I couldn’t even get justice for her family. I feel like I owe her parents an explanation and an apology. I feel the same way about all of you. Helping me cost you your relationship with Grace. I never should have put you in that position. Knowing me endangered all your lives. I didn’t recognize that when I was a free man. I didn’t pay attention to what you said to me. I wonder sometimes if I had listened, if I had taken a step back and thought about the risks we were taking, the laws we bent and broken, if I had stopped to ask if we should act rather than accepting that we could because of our “full immunity and means.” Bullshit—I hate myself every day for all the times I used that as justification. In acting without thinking, I gave up the moral high ground; I gave up the opportunity to see the truth behind the lies. I gave up the chance to really make a difference. I took the quick and easy path and for that I have paid the price in blood. I’ve had a lot of time to think and I can see all the clues, the opportunities I had to change the course of my life and countless others, but I didn’t see them. _

_It is too late to change the past, but maybe some good can come through the legacy I leave behind._

 _I saved all your letters. Even when I didn’t open them, I still kept them. I can’t be sure I received every one, but my attorney always forwarded them on even when I wasn’t allowed any other mail, any other contact with the outside world. I kept them because it meant so much to me that you cared. I was angry at you for a long time—not because you didn’t get me out, but because you were still wasting your time with me. You wouldn’t leave me behind and move on with your life, even when everyone else had. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. I hated you for making me feel guilty for letting go. I never saw it as giving up, I just reached a point where I couldn’t see the point of fighting anymore. Anything I or anyone tried would just feed back into Wo Fat’s hands. I didn’t want anyone else to fall prey to his manipulations. I’ve had years to meditate and reflect. I made peace with my impending execution long ago. I am powerless to change others minds, but I can face my death with dignity, and that is what I will do. You were right though. I thought I could save you all by offering myself as a sacrifice._

 _When the FBI questioned me to see if I had threatened you or Mary… I haven’t felt like that in years. I thought I was numb, but the fear I felt for you was more than I know how to put into words. When I got back to my cell I started reading. I read my lawyer’s letters and I started reading yours right from the beginning. I read straight through for a week. Every moment there was light in my cell I read. I listened… You write the way you talk, Danno. I could almost hear your voice getting higher pitched as you got upset, see your hands flailing as you spoke. I could sense your frustration and knew it was borne out of love. It made me miss you in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in almost ten years, but at the same time I felt closer to you than I have in at least as long. By the time I was done, new letters had arrived, and I read them. I felt… joy at reading about your reconnection with Grace. And I loved your fantasy too—if fate had cast us a slightly different hand I could see myself growing old with you in that house on the beach. I would have made you fall in love with the water, and you would have kept me tethered to the real world, the big picture of humanity._

 _I hear what you’re saying now too. Everything in life has risks and sometimes they are worth taking. I don’t want you or anyone else to come to harm for trying to save me, but I realize I you’re going to do what you believe is right, no matter what I say. Some gambles are all or nothing and this is one of them. I won’t be the one to bring this ship down. You may already know it when you get this letter, but I’ll do it. I’ll talk. I’ll do it because you asked me to, and my faith in you has never wavered. I know you have only my best interests at heart and if there is any way for good to come out of this, you will find it._

 _I love you, Danno. I’ve been in love with you since long before I found my way inside. I knew how you felt even when you didn’t say the words._

 _Yours always,_

 _Steve_

~~~

 **Danny:**

 _Breaking news. This just in. Just four days from his scheduled execution, the man convicted of treason and murder for assassinating the Governor of Hawai’i and her Public Safety Liaison nearly ten years ago is being released. In this dramatic turn of events, Steven J. McGarrett, was given a full pardon by the Governor of Hawai’i, Samuel Denning. In an emergency appeal to the Supreme Court, the Court reversed McGarrett’s convictions for federal murder and treason, based on new evidence that apparently shows McGarrett did not commit those crimes. The Court also ordered new trials for several lesser offenses, citing new evidence, including extensive exculpatory evidence that was apparently withheld during the first trial. The President of the United States has urged the United States’ attorney’s office to consider dropping all charges against McGarrett, and the authorities involved, including Judge Ramirez, who presided over McGarrett’s 2012 federal trial, have agreed to release him into the custody of family pending resolution of the other issues._

 _Details of the evidence that seems to have exonerated McGarrett are not known at this time. Justice Department officials involved in this case responded to our inquiries stating the evidence is being withheld pending a new investigation. However, sources say this new investigation isn’t against McGarrett._

Danny flipped the radio off with a decisive jab. He was too tired to listen to any more sensationalized tales about his life. He glanced in the rearview mirror, heartened and haunted by the sight of Steve, hollow-cheeked and exhausted, sleeping like a baby in the back seat.

They’d had a police escort help spirit them out of the State of Indiana, and now Danny was on his own making the long drive back to the East Coast. With Janice’s assistance and the support of everyone else at work, he’d rented a small ocean-side cottage in New Jersey. He was going to hole up there with Steve until the shit stopped hitting the fan. Grace would join them in a few days. It would be… at test. A chance, maybe the only chance, to see if they could make this work, if now that they had the opportunity, they could be a family again.

~~~

 **Steve:**

 _Fresh air_ , the feel of breeze on his skin was more than Steve knew how to handle. So was traffic and modern communications and people and talking and open skies and colors…

He’d spent so long in a concrete box, alone, condemned, hated… It was hard to imagine he’d once loved wide-open spaces, the sky above him, the ground or sea below. Now he was agoraphobic, so unused to the concept of _space_. The counselor they’d made him talk to last night and again this morning had said that would pass and soon, but he wasn’t entirely sure he believed her. All that room, all that emptiness—how had he ever loved it… it was so _awesome_ and terrifying.

But then they arrived at their destination, and Danny—oh my god, he could _touch, see, smell, hear Danno_ —had explained they were staying at a beach cottage. And now Steve was outside, looking into the waves. He was quite certain if he listened and watched long enough, eventually the shore would open up and swallow him whole.

Steve thought maybe he was okay with that.

~~~

 **Danny and Steve:**

Danny walked out the back door of the tiny, rented cottage and paused.

Steve was standing there, barefoot, on the beach, looking out over the currently choppy Atlantic waters. The breeze was strong, but still gentle, rustling the waves so they hinted towards whitecaps, while blowing the thin cotton fabric of Steve's pants against his legs revealing his too-thin frame underneath. The sun was just cresting over the horizon, the bright yellow-orange ball seeming to bob on the endless waves, while the pink and golden fingers of dawn crept heavenward, Steve a wind-blown silhouette against the picturesque beauty of the Atlantic.

Danny took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of salt and sand and seaweed he would forever associate with happy times, summer vacations of his childhood with his grandparents and parents and brother and sisters. Back when they were all a family, so innocent. Before time and choice and fate and greed had taken their toll. And now, here before him was Steve... His mission in life for the past decade. The embodiment of all Danny's failings, hurtling towards hell on that gold-plated causeway of good intentions. Where Steve had once been tan and built, he was now pale and lean, almost frail. Where he'd been sure, cocky, even overconfident, he now moved with hesitance, he seemed to be constantly seeking permission or affirmation that it was okay to be here. Where he'd sprawled and spread out and leaped and reached, and otherwise taken up far more space than a person of even his height should be able to occupy, he now seemed small, contained, constrained, folded in on himself. His hair was greyer, his eyes more haunted, lined with pain... And yet, he was still the same, still possessed of an amazing dignity and grace and stubborn will. It had sucked Danny in, enthralled him from the moment he met Steve—how anyone could be that collected and obstinate in the face of overwhelming grief, ridiculous risks, and even more ridiculous odds. It had pissed him off, intrigued him, perplexed him, and eventually led Danny to fall in love. It was affirmation, reassurance, despite all the time and pain and loss of hope, Steve was still _Steve_ under there. Steve was _here_.

Steve was _free_.

As seconds slipped into minutes, and Steve still hadn't moved, Danny pushed off the doorjamb with a sigh and propelled himself forward across the beach. The sand slipping between his toes was cooler and darker, but it reminded him of another past... The best and worst time of his life. He was careful as he approached to make enough noise so as not to startle or alarm Steve. Thankfully, he had five-plus years of working around skittish exonerees and their distraught family members to prepare him for this. Only...

He realized this was nothing like work. This wasn't someone else's victory, someone else's loss, someone else's loved one. This was Steve, and Danny... Danny was one of the distraught family members, and this was their life forever altered, suddenly allowed to play again after a decade set on hold. No matter how many techniques or statistics Danny knew, there was no way to avoid it. No way to guarantee a happy ending. No way to skip the pain (and often depression) of adjustment. No way to get back the past. No way but forward. They could keep living now, and would get to see where life took them.

When he was confident Steve knew he was there and close enough he could reach out and touch Steve if he tried, but not so close he was crowding Steve's personal space, Danny spoke. "I know it's not the same, not the right ocean, I mean. But I figured it's still ocean and it's a lot easier to get you here than there..."Danny paused and shuddered at the thought of putting Steve through a 12 to 15 hour flight, the nightmare of hours trapped in a tin can, surrounded by press and federal agents, prying eyes and accusing glares... Not to mention the insanity of actually trying to bring Steve to Hawai’i. The Governor may have given Steve a pardon, but that was a long way from exoneration, and there were still plenty of people who believed Steve to be a monster.

"I—I never thought I'd see it again." Steve's voice was soft, thin, and rough from disuse. “The Ocean, I mean,” he added, shooting a week smile at Danny.

“Oh Steve I—” but there were no words. Everything Danny knew about Steve, the old Steve, were tied up in sun and sand and surf and _water_. The thought of Steve without the ocean, stuck in a fucking landlocked state in a cell twenty-three hours a day for the better part of a decade, sent a wave of nausea rushing through Danny that no _record_ could help him prevent. He was retching into the gentle waves before he knew it… but Steve was _there_ —a warm hand on his back, a little tug to help him back to his feet, a tentative brush of fingertips against his neck.

The next thing Danny knew, they were facing each other, hands locked around elbows, Steve looking down into Danny’s eyes, for a moment they were the _old_ them. Five-0, partners, best friends, invincible… in love. But they were also older, worn, weary, changed, lost and found. They were both and neither and everything in between.

“I read your letter,” Danny said, breaking the ice.

Steve brought a finger to Danny’s lips as he spoke, the soft pad tracing the bow of Danny’s mouth. “I—I’m not the same man I was, Danny—D—Danno.”

Danny had to close his eyes against the rush of tears. For all his protests and complaints, he would have given anything to hear Steve call him that nickname again. “I’m not the same man either,” he said, blinking his eyes open. “I don’t expect you to be anything but who you are, and I’m not looking for any more than you can give. This—here, it’s more than I ever expected we would get. I—I know it’s not Hawai’i, but…”

This time Steve did kiss him. First it was a gentle press of closed lips to Danny’s temple, followed by a needier, more desperate, open kiss to his lips. Hands roamed, tongues explored, and Danny acquainted himself with the newly familiar taste of Steve… They broke apart, finally, gasping. Their bodies were still pressed flush together, Steve’s erection digging into Danny’s stomach, while his dick pressed against Steve’s thigh.

“It’s perfect, Danno. Perfect. All I can handle,” Steve muttered, and then he was devouring Danny’s mouth like a starving man as his hands slipped under Danny’s t-shirt and lifted it up, wiggling to get it over Danny’s head. “What—” Steve started only to have to clear his throat with a cough.

Danny knew Steve hadn’t talked much, if at all, in the last five years, but the evidence was sobering.

“What happened to the tie and button-down?” Steve managed.

“That’s for work, and right now, I’m not working. I’m with my family,” Danny answered, eyes meeting Steve’s again. “I’m here, with you.”

Things got a little blurry after that. Their clothes came off. Their hands roamed. Danny learned the new scars on Steve’s body, flinching as he imagined the source of each line, faint and white or puckered and jagged.

Steve traced Danny’s body with his fingertips seemingly mesmerized. There was a lot more kissing and an embrace that turned into humping that resulted in a record-fast climax for both of them, but there was no sex on the beach. Danny’s knees just wouldn’t have allowed it.

Somewhere in their post-orgasmic bliss when the morning sun, on this unseasonably warm November day, grew too bright to be comfortable, they stumbled inside to the privacy and comfort of their bed. _Their_ bed. It was theirs, both of theirs for as long as they stayed there. Their personal haven to regroup and recuperate, and begin making up for all the lost time.

Danny made love to Steve with caring fingers and gentle thrusts, both their bodies seemingly primed on a hair trigger, overwhelmed by the complexity of sensation where their bodies joined. Danny was scared at first, worried it was too soon, but the keening noises and wanton joy that spread across Steve’s face allayed his fears. It was as if every touch, every thrust took Steve one step further back from the grave and one step closer to the living, closer to Danny.

“I love you, Danno,” Steve murmured as they lay sprawled in post-coital bliss, Steve’s arms enveloping Danny and holding him close.

“And Danno loves you,” Danny answered with a smile, then added, “You know Grace will be here in two days—I think you’re going to fall in love with her all over again. She’s _remarkable_.” His awe at his daughter’s resilience and bravery was shining through.

“I—I’ll be happy to meet her again,” Steve answered, around a yawn, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Shh, sleep now. I’ve got you. She’s excited to meet you too.”

As Steve drifted to sleep in Danny’s arms, he let his mind wander. This wasn’t a perfect happily ever after. There was still a lot of work to be done to finish clearing Steve’s name. It might take months or even years to know if Steve would still have a criminal record when all was said and done, and a lot of that was going to depend on the actions of other people—lawyers, judges, legislators—who Steve and Danny could try to influence, but couldn’t control. Kono was still in limbo, at least for a little while longer. It looked like the DA wanted to drop the charges against her, but in the rush to free Steve and right the “bigger” wrong, Kono was still stuck, waiting for the Governor to sort it all out. Chin was fine, he still had his job, and maybe some newfound respect, but it was going to take _time_ to mend that relationship. And then there was Mary and Jenna—both were doing great, but had adapted to lives on the fringes, staying out of trouble’s way and keeping their heads down. But now they had a chance, a real chance, to rejoin the mainstream… it was just going to take a lot of getting used to.

It wasn’t perfect. A lot was still uncertain, but as he listened to Steve’s soft snores and felt his body warm and snug beside him, Danny knew it was more than he had ever expected. A new start—a second chance, and he and Steve were seizing it with both hands. He might not know where this path would end up, but it would be one hell of a ride, especially with Steve by his side.

  
_The End…_   



End file.
